Sleep Super Soldier
by ALiteralSkittle1290
Summary: After some time of nearly sleepless nights, Steve Rogers doesn't expect this one to be any different. Natasha Romanoff proves him wrong. Fluff and angst all around. Romanogers if you squint.


Hi everyone!

I wrote this story a long time ago, (Like 6th grade long ago) and decided to revise it recently. This takes place post Winter Soldier but before AoU. Thank you to everyone who reads this! Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters.

STEVE

Steve was running.

From ghosts.

It sounded crazy- he didn't want to believe it either. It had to be a dream, the kind that one could hide from under the sheets or shove underneath the bed. But there were hands clawing at his shirt, gaunt faces screaming at him without words, and his mind managed to convince him that it wasn't some terrible fantasy. It wasn't possible to wake up from this nightmare.

He was a goner for sure.

He could distinguish faces, twisted, tortured faces that wailed at him terror alight in their eyes. Peggy's beautiful face was marred with a snarl, the usual mischievous twinkle in Howard's eyes replaced with something similar to insanity. He could hear their words, and they cut deep into his skin.

"You ruined my son's life!"

"Selfish son of a bitch!"

"You left us!"

"You never cared, did you?"

He wanted to correct them, wanted to show them how wrong they were. He did care, and still does. Steve didn't mean to hurt them. But his mouth was glued shut, unable to open no matter how much he struggled. Seeing his blight, they rushed over and gripped the back of his shirt with unnecessary strength. Their baleful eyes locked on to his anguish filled blue ones.

"Pathetic." Peggy hissed. His mother smirked and nodded her head with disgust.

"A Disgrace." Icy cold water wrapped it's arms around him, rendering him unable to breath. He spluttered, feeling new waves of raw panic washing over him. This can't be happening. I can't freeze again!

Steve struggled helplessly, but his lungs burned and his eyes did too. They let go of his shirt, watching and laughing at his helplessness. Cold seeped into his bones, and it whispered in his ear.

Give up.

You're already dead.

Black started to cloud his vision, pain wracking his body. He was going to die. He was going to die the death he should have 70 years ago. Unconsciousness grabbed him, and Steve Rogers woke up gasping at 12:23 in the morning.

Oh.

Then the tears started to slip from his eyes, and he buried his face in his hands. It was just a dream. A freakishly realistic recurring nightmare that had haunted him every night for the past week. Sam had even sent him back to D.C in the middle of their "Quest for Bucky" because of his lack of rest.

Honestly, he appreciated the concern, but the soldier didn't want sleep. He craved the adrenaline and mindlessness of throwing a few punches.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Steve leaned his head back to rest against the

headboard. He'd gotten about 2 hours of sleep a day for the past week, and the soldier's pretty sure it was showing. But any thought of resting again was whisked from his head. He couldn't go through that nightmare again. One more time and it would tear him apart.

He then noticed how cold the room seemed to be. Had it always been this chilly? The air seemed to bite his skin and he shivered, pulling on one of the sweaters Natasha had bought him over a white t-shirt. When it made no difference to his discomfort, he pulled on another layer. Then a fourth, and finally fifth layer until he was partially satisfied. Steve curled up and tried to get as comfortable as he could to wait out the rest of the night.

Just as he'd gotten somewhat content, there was a sharp knock at the door.

Steve froze.

His shield glinted reassuringly in the moonlight filtering through a window. It had been haphazardly thrown at the foot of his bed, and action that he mentally congratulated himself for. Reaching to grab it, he deftly made his way to the door.

Who would bother to visit him in the middle of the night?

The soldier peered through the crack between door and wall, and was greeted with a flash of red hair. In one swift movement, he unlocked the small metal latch and was met with a casual looking Natasha.

Her nonchalant expression faltered a little when she saw his haggard appearance. She didn't comment though, which was a relief. Instead, she smirked and placed a hand on his heavily clothed arm.

"You do know it's the middle of summer, right?" He rolled his eyes and nodded, mumbling something along the lines of a broken AC unit. She took his hand and dragged him into his own apartment, voice heavy with exasperation.

"You're a terrible liar Rogers."

She persuaded him to lose one of his sweaters and leather jacket, then sank down on his couch. The spy produced a disc out of thin air and twirled it around her finger. She hgave him a sideways glance.

"I brought a movie."

"At 12:30 in the morning?"

"Actually, It's 12:37."

He rolled his eyes again at the correction. She continued to talk as if nothing happened.

"I thought you were out looking for Bucky."

"I was."

"Why'd you come back? Not that I don't enjoy your patriotic presence."

"Sam told me to rest."

"And you actually listened?"

He huffed in frustration and turned to face the spy. To his surprise, she was wearing a concerned expression instead of her usual confident smirk. Natasha reached a hand out and placed it on his own.

"Hey." There was a long pause before she finally spoke again. "Is it because you can't sleep?"

He didn't respond immediately and averted his gaze, which was his way of telling her yes. Her eyes softened but she set her jaw.

"I'm putting the movie in."

Somehow she managed to operate the flat screen TV that had been sitting uselessly in the corner of his living room. And somehow she managed to drag him next to her on the small couch, even though he was almost 2 times her weight. They curled up on the cushions, her head resting peacefully on his chest. He didn't trust himself to move until she gave him a pointed look.

"Relax Steve."

He sighed, sinking lower into the soft material of the couch. The floral scent of her shampoo flooded his nose, and he inhaled deeply. It reminded him of all the times he and Natasha had spent together, taking down enemies on missions, sharing a cup of coffee, jogging in the mornings, trying to act like normal friends at the mall…

The soldier smiled a little and adjusted the arm draped around Natasha's shoulders. She didn't tear her gaze from the TV, but he could see the corners of her eyes crinkle just a bit. He refrained a small laugh at how odd the situation was. Captain America watches a movie with the Black Widow at 12:44 in the morning.

The film dragged on, and honestly, he had no idea what was going on. Even though it was playing right in front of his eyes Steve couldn't seem to make any sense of it. Everything just flashed past on the screen, a jumbled mess that didn't make any sense.

Exhaustion creeped over him.

He felt his eyelids start to droop, waves of tiredness washing over him. He jerked up, trying to shake it of.

No. You can't fall asleep. What about the nightmare?

He pried his eyelids open, trying to keep the heavy weights from dragging them down. The dull sounds coming from the TV were soothing, lulling him into the darkness of sleep.

Keep it together Rogers!

Steve didn't get it. He was a supersoldier for god's sake! He'd also gone a lot longer without sleeping in the war. Why did he feel so exhausted and drained?

Soon he felt something on the back of his head. It was cool and soft, tangling itself in his blond hair. The soldier felt himself slipping farther into unconsciousness.

Goddamn… it…

His head bumped into something soft, and he let it rest there. Steve was just too tired to move. With a small glance around the room he realized who was supporting him.

"Sorry." He mumbled out quietly. Natasha just placed a finger to her lips and continued to card her hand through his hair.

After a few moments of compatible silence, the spy's whisper pierced it like a knife.

"You do know you can sleep right?" He peeked over at her and her unwavering gaze on the ending movie.

"You set me up, didn't you." He didn't say it as a question. She smirked slightly and readjusted his head on her shoulder.

"Just sleep, super soldier."

So he relaxed. Let the tension in his limbs out, going limp against her. His eyes dropped close and he let the exhaustion take over, dragging him under into the grasp of sleep. The soldier hoped he could make it through the rest of the night undesturbed, but if not, he had Natasha by side.

Steve's mind met oblivion as he drifted into precious hours of fitful sleep.

Whew! Finished. This didn't end the way I wanted it to but... Eh. Whatever. If it's not too much trouble, please drop a review! If not, (To quote my previous sentence) eh. Whatever. Good night folks! Or morning. Or midday. Peace to you all.

~Percavenger1290


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